8.13: Good, Better, Best, Dead

"Daddy... Is mommy really gone?" Marlo asked me, staring up at me with wide eyes.
   "She's not gone, honey." I said, struggling with my words. How was I suppose to explain this? "We just aren't living together any more."
   "Cause you aren't married?"
   "Yeah... Sorta."
   "But mommy still loves me? Daddy does she hate me? Would she us marry you cause of me? Daddy?"
   "No, no! Of course not! Mom loves you and Phoebe from Pluto and back still and so do I."
   "Hey, when are we gonna visit?" Phoebe asked me, as she came into the kitchen.
   "We're sorting out... Mommy was thinking maybe she gets you every other week during the times when there is not school and when there is school she gets you every weekend."
   "Gets us?" Phoebe asked, her face crumpling up into a cringe. "We aren't possessions."
   "I know you aren't. We are going to try the best we can."
   "Mommy was gonna sign me up for ballet classes at the dance studio cause I liked the resort lessons."
   "I can sign you up."
   "But ballet is girly! You're a boy."
   "Boys can do ballet."
   "You're my daddy, though." She giggled.
   "Ugh. Marrie, there's more important stuff. Like mom is the one who cooks."
   "I can cook!" I exclaimed. "Besides, don't worry."
   "Dad." Phoebe said.
   "Dad." Marlo repeated.
   "How can we not?!"
   "I know this is gonna be difficult-"
   "Nunuh, gamma and granny are together. You don't know." Marlo said, sticking her tongue out at me. "Liar."
   "Marlo! Don't do that, it isn't nice."
   "You and mommy unmarried. That is not nice, too."
   "I'm the daddy. It is different." Marlo glanced at Phoebe who shrugged, than pointed at something I couldn't see.
   "Dad." Phoebe asked patiently. "Marlo needs ballet clothes." Marlo enthusiastically nodded her head in agreement.
   "Why don't you wear your play shorts and sneakers and that shirt-"

   "Tank top, daddy." Marlo corrected me.
   "And that tank top mommy bought you?"
   "Because, they aren't meant for ballet."
   "I don't want to buy you a new wardrobe for classes you may not even like."
   "But daddy!" Marlo whined. "Pllllleeeeaaaassssseeeee?"
   "Mom would buy her ballet clothes." Phoebe shrugged. Dammit. The mom card. If I didn't I would be the mean one and since they were living with me the majority of the time, I “couldn't let them think that.
   "How about we compromise? I'll buy you ballet flats and after you go to one lesson and you decide you like it we'll get you some nice clothes."
   "Okay..." She said, glancing at her older sister who winked, as if to say told you we could convince him. "Can Wendy take me?"
   "Wendy?"
   "Mrs. Buboes?"
   "Her last name is buboes? That's unfortunate... Why do you want to go with her?"
   "Because, Phoebe lovvvvvvvesss Quentin."
   "I do not lovvvvve him!"
   "Yeah you do, he's your booooyyyyyfrrriendd."
   "No he isn't! He is a boy and... Dad, make her stop!" She crossed her arms and glared at me, which prompted me to ask my youngest to stop pestering her sister about boys and love, something that a fourth grader shouldn't care about.
   "Okay." Marlo said.
   "Thank you." Phoebe said. She had handled the news about Maya's departure quite well. Apparently Maya had favored Marlo much more because Phoebe would let her treat her like a Barbie doll, causing a bit of tension between the sisters. Surprisingly since Maya moved out, they were both behaving better.
   Marlo wasn't as open to sharing her emotions towards the event; she was a closed book unwilling to share what she thought. I assumed she wasn't completely messed up, because she didn't act out at home or school. Who knew, though. Maya was he one who was around mostly when she was a toddler, Maya was the one who instilled her values and opinions.
   "Would Mrs. Buboes be okay with me asking?"
   "I dunno. She went to PTA with mom." Phoebe said. "She's nice. She baked up cookies."

   "She's fat." Marlo said.
   "No she isn't. She just isn't a stick."
   "Mommy said she is fat."
   "Mom was wrong."
   "Nooo, mommy was right. I saw Wendy at the beach, she was wearing this bikini mommy says only skinny, pretty people should wear cause you would see her chubby tummy."
   "Marlo, people are all different shapes and sizes. Just because they aren't smaller like you or Phoebe doesn't mean they are fat. If Mrs. Buboes is healthy that is all that matters. Besides, it really isn't any of my, your, or mommy's business."
   "Okay... But I'm smaller than Phoebe."
   "You're younger." Phoebe said. "Of course you are."
   "Girls, it doesn't matter." Weight was a sensitive subject for females and I knew that with the fashion industry and all these other things people blame you should make sure to establish that healthy isn't just a low number on the scale. Maya must have taught my littlest girl that the opposite was true; I'd have to make sure that she didn't teach the children any more crazy things.
   "Okay." Okay must be Marlo's favorite word, because she used it so often.

Marlo's Point of View...

   I looked at my outfit in the dance studio's mirror. Daddy had bought be blue ballet shoes that matched my tank top mommy got me. Mommy would have got me a leotard, too, but for now just shoes were okay. I knew I was gonna love ballet and after I confirmed that, daddy said we could ask Mrs. Buboes to take me shopping. Phoebe had begged me to ask him that, since she liked Quentin. I don't get why she likes him, cause he is always poking her or pulling her hair or something mean like that. Phoebe's gonna be in fifth grade soon, which is the top of the elementary school, so that means she is  older than everyone and awesomer.
   "Class, class, please gather around!" The ballet teacher, whose name was something funny sounding that I could remember, said. I glanced at the other kids, six girls and two boys, who all had on ballet leotards or tutus or something meant for me. I looked dumb with my shorts and tank top. "Alright, welcome to the beginner's ballet class. Let's go around the circle and say our name and age, alright? Do you want to start?" She pointed at the boy sitting next to me, who nodded.
   "My names is Harold Arnold Jonathan Saint Peters Junior. I am eight."
   "Wow." The teacher said. "That's a long name. Can the class call you Harry?"
   "Yeah." Harry said.
   "Class, say hello to Harry."
   "Hi, Harry." We all said.
   "I'm Paris." The girl to Harry's right said. "I'm five. I'm named after a city in France. My mama's from France."
   "Hi, Paris." We said. We said this after every person said their name, until it got to me.
   "I'm Marlo. M-A-R-L-O. I'm seven." The class looked at me and I could tell hey we're judging me. I looked different, my outfit was different, my hair was different, and I didn't look as pretty and stick-ish as they did. Mommy said skinny was pretty and they all had smaller bones and whiter teeth and shinier hair, just like the ballet posters on the wall, so they were prettier.
   "Hi, Marlo." They said after what was probably a whole year of judging me.
   "Alrighty," Ms. Ballet Teacher said, "So we have Harry, Paris, Marcy, Hattie, Alexandra, Nicole, Jared, Bethany, and Marlo. What a wonderful class! Let's begin. First," she began talking about stretches, which was boring, and we did stretches, which was fun.

  

 After the class I told daddy about it. I have decided that I like ballet. I have decided that I am going to be the best possible ballerina in the entire universe, including the one the aliens live in. I am Marlo Janes and I'm a ballerina.